


Holy is the Sound

by anti_ela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tick. Maybe he found someone else. Tick. Maybe she was prettier, better. Tick. That would be okay. Tick. Maybe he was okay, and she was the problem, and he wasn't lying in a field all alone and maybe he didn't die afraid and screaming as demons clawed his skin off and God, God, please, why? Why?</p><p>Daphne screamed, letting her pillow muffle the sound, hoping the pills would muffle her thoughts and soon, God, soon she could sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy is the Sound

Tick. Maybe he found someone else. Tick. Maybe she was prettier, better. Tick. That would be okay. Tick. Maybe he was okay, and she was the problem, and he wasn't lying in a field all alone and maybe he didn't die afraid and screaming as demons clawed his skin off and _God, God, please, why? Why?_

Daphne screamed, letting her pillow muffle the sound, hoping the pills would muffle her thoughts and soon, God, soon she could sleep.

She curled in tighter, bones pressed together, torn nails catching on skin, matted hair curling in her mouth. Too much space. She was taking up too much space because there was too much of her, too much inside her, and when he came back (because he has to come back, God doesn't send angels and take them away, does He?) he would need his side of the bed and her side was so empty and maybe she could just be here in the middle forever.

He would understand, right? He'd understand. He was so kind. He would know she needed him, he would never knowingly put her through this.

_Please, Lord. Please. I need him. I just need to know he's okay._

Her phone rang, loud, a mockingbird's call, and she shuddered, unfolding, reaching out a shaking hand. It was glowing and quivering and so much more alive than she and for a moment she only stared, cradling this small thing, knowing that no one was calling for her.

She pressed 'answer' and brought the machine to her lips.

"He's not here," she said, a whisper.

Silence, then: "Hello?"

"Emanuel's not here, and I don't know where he is, and he can't help you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but he can't even help himself, so he can't help you."

If the caller responded, she did not hear it. She dropped the phone on the floor and felt the vibrations of the impact more than heard them. Wings—a hundred thousand wings were beating, beating, brushing against her skin like ghosts of an electric pulse. And then—oh.

"Emanuel," she said, straightening her legs.

He was different, bigger, somehow, but maybe she had just gotten small.

"Emanuel," she said, lifting up from the bed.

"Hello, Daphne."

"Emanuel," she repeated, holding out her hand.

He looked down at her hand, smiling, and she wondered what he saw: the protruding bones, the ragged nails? "Emanuel? What an odd name we chose. 'God with us, revealed in us,' you know—although, I guess you do."

"What?"

"That name. It was a nice name to have with you, but I remember, now, that I am Castiel. So I would like for you to call me that."

"I—who is Castiel? What are you talking about?"

"Well, I was telling you that I'm the angel of Thursday, but I guess I did it a little awkwardly. If I go away and come back again, would that make it better? We could start over and I could do it right this time."

"Emanuel, you're scaring me."

"Oh, Daphne." He sat on the bed, staring up at the clock, and like before the weight of him drew her in. "How do I explain this? You accepted demons so easily. Why is that always the easier of the two, Daphne? What does that say about humanity?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Please just come to bed."

"I am on the bed already."

"Please."

He turned, looked down at her. "I am not your husband, Daphne." His voice was gentle, kind, and his touch was soft as he ran his hand along her hair. "The man you lived with for half a year was… a ghost of me, but he did not eat, he did not drink, he did not sleep. He healed the blind and made the lame walk. He was not human, and you knew. So please believe me when I say I am an angel, and I am sorry. I am so sorry." He pauses, and she breathes again. "You're one of four human beings on the planet that I know, so I wanted to visit, but I think I'll go see Meg now. She's less sad and she likes my jokes."

Again, the wings, and they must be his because as they fall silent he is gone.


End file.
